


Eating In

by Quivo (quivo)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Dinner, Fluff, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Party, Post - Deathly Hallows, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-29
Updated: 2009-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quivo/pseuds/Quivo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what Daphne is used to; hosting dinner, and comforting a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eating In

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always welcome; do let me know what you think.

Despite Daphne's too-soft chocolate cake and slightly overdone pasta, the party went well. Millicent showed off her new bob, Adrian and Charles made eyes at each other all evening, and Pansy and Draco didn't glare at each other more than once.

As ever, Blaise was invaluable. He kept everyone in good humor, kept people mingling, made the best of the forlorn cake by dismantling it into slices and rebranding it as a cakey pudding.

"You really should have let me cook," he told her, while she exchanged an empty tray for a full one. "I know how much you like controlling things in your shoebox--"

"Bigger than your flat, and no thank you," Daphne said, adjusting the position of a bowl on her tray. "You'd have house elves in the moment my back was turned."

"As if you couldn't _use_ a house elf," Blaise returned, waving away the tray she'd just set down. "Honestly, I don't know how you manage."

It was an old joke between them, one they frequently used to paper over a situation Daphne had only just resigned herself to. Mother wouldn't hear of detaching a Greengrass house elf to support her older daughter in quarters she would never approve of, and _would_ take offense at Daphne bringing in help from beyond their immediate family circle.

Not that she would. Daphne couldn't imagine letting some stranger touch and manage her things. Which, she reflected, backing through the kitchen door, was just as well. If she brought in outside help, Mother would have a fit, and Astoria would be caught in the middle, unable to act without offending either side.

"Decadent chocolate pudding," Daphne said, over the hubbub in the dining room, and while some people clearly didn't trust her re-labelled dessert, everyone obligingly took a bowl. Better still, no one commented on the fact that Daphne was serving; it put some steel in her spine, knowing that most of her circle had got over their hidebound disapproval, that some of them now relied on her frequent, informal dinner parties.

The kitchen door swung open. A wave of glances washed over Blaise as he sauntered in, automatic looks born of recent trouble and older wars. Blaise took it in stride, like any one of them might have done. That, in Daphne's opinion, was the best thing about her friends. Though Tracey had stopped twitching at every little thing, while she had, no one had begrudged her constant, instinctive worrying. The war they'd know was five years gone, but some families were still suffering the effects. Across the table, Charles laughed and looked happy and relaxed, but only because he was neither in line for family head nor in possesion of one of the contested Warrington properties.

And no one had quite forgotten the recent, brutal attack on Blaise's mother, or the equally ruthless reprisals. The Flints were still licking their wounds, and Blaise was still being watched by the Ministry. Hence the innocuous party, to clear the air and keep boring the Ministry flacks. Looking at Blaise, Daphne still saw signs of weariness and strain, and made a note to ask him to stay the night.

As things drew to a close, Daphne took less and less of an active role in the proceedings. Wineglass in hand, she watched Draco and Astoria usher themselves out. Watched Pansy flirt with Adrian and Charles both, after Draco had gone; watched Millicent doze at the table, fashionable even in repose.

When Blaise closed his eyes, she rose. "Everyone out," Daphne said, cheerful but firm. "Millie, that means you too."

"Oh," Millicent rubbed at her eyes. "Can I Floo?"

"Of course," Daphne said. Millicent always asked. Pansy simply wobbled her way into the sitting room with generous help from Adrian and Charles and commandeered the fireplace. Morag and Tracey always left together, and were now on their way out. Being considerate, they both stopped for a hug and a kiss. "Be safe," Daphne said, to each of them in turn. "Floo's open if you need it."

"Daph," Millicent said, muzzily. "Will he be all right?" She thumbed over at Blaise, the movement clumsy with sleep.

"He'll stay the night," Daphne said. They hugged, briefly, then separated, Daphne finding her former seat, and Millicent making her way over to the Floo. Examining her hands, Daphe listened to Millicent's thumps and curses. When she heard the muted roar of the Floo, she rose and mended the wards, drawing them tight. It took longer than usual, the party having gone on longer than it normally did, and when she put away her wand, she heard Blaise sigh behind her.

"I take it that I'm staying the night." His tone was empty, devoid of inflection. It was Blaise at his most tired, Blaise at his least.

"Give me a minute to clean up, will you? Then bed." He shrugged, so Daphne waved the half-empty bowls into the air, gently modifying the spell so that it grasped only the dirty spoons and forks as well. A careful flick, and the dishes began to float their way back into the kitchen, finding their way to the sink. Daphne ducked into the kitchen under the stream of floating plates, and set them all to washing themselves as they floated in. Setting up was always the hardest part, since one had to check to make sure the critical second sink was empty, and that nearby surfaces and cupboards would be free to accommodate the extra activity.

That done, she walked back into the dining room, and found Blaise slumped in his chair, dozing freely. It took a while to rouse him and get him out. It would have been easier to levitate him into bed; since he'd always hated that, it saved argument to help him stagger into Daphne's dimly lit bedroom. There, they separated, automatically undressed, and groused quietly over who would get the warmer side.

"My shoebox," Daphne muttered. "My bloody bed."

"Mother told me today," Blaise mumbled, "that it's either death or becoming a vampire."

Blinking, Daphne let him climb over her and into the warmer spot. Then, when he looked to be dozing off, she shook him awake. "The replenishing potions didn't work?"

"What do you think?" He curled away from her, dragging the covers up over his bare, dark shoulders. "I wish I could call Marcus up and kill him again."

For a moment Daphne wholeheartedly shared that thought. Then, thinking of just how unhappy Mrs. Zabini surely felt, she shook her head. "I think you'd have to get in line."

"I'm always in line," Blaise said, bitterly. "Always."

Aching for him, Daphne waved off the lights. Careful, she drew closer, and put an arm around him, for warmth. _Not tonight,_ she wanted to say. _Not with me_. She knew, of course, that that hadn't been completely true.

"No guests Wednesday night," she offered. "Just us."

Blaise shook his head. "The Ministry's still watching, remember? We can't have you changing the routine."

"They might think the obvious," Daphne said. "Deepening relationship and all."

Blaise turned over with a grunt. "Too obvious. They'd look for something else." He sighed. "Breakfast?"

"Anything you like," Daphne said, squeezing his shoulder. Then, when his eyes lowered, "I am _not_ trudging out to buy croissants."

"You said anything."

"Within reason, yes."

"Croissants are reasonable," Blaise grumbled. Daphne listened to him him shifting and sniffing for a while, then decided to ask her final question for the night.

"When's your mother planning to turn?"

Blaise froze for a moment, then shifted his head, digging fingers into the pillow as he forced himself to relax. "Tonight." He was curling in again, involuntarily; one of his knees bumped her in the side.

Daphne reached out to him, trying to smooth a comforting line down his back. "Croissants tomorrow," she whispered. "Chocolate croissants."


End file.
